


Saved

by aguantare



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Death, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 06:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aguantare/pseuds/aguantare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Harry got sick. Louis loved him. They both made a choice. None of that was your fault.” AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saved

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: don't know them, don't own them, don't sue me
> 
> Between reading Supreme Court cases on the right to die and more broadly just being pissed off at some of what passes for "ethics" in law, somehow this fic got written.

“Louis. Please.”

“No. _No_. Harry, how can you—how can you ask me to do this?”

“Louis.”

“No.”

“ _Please_.”

-

It’s 3 PM on a beautiful spring day in New York City when Louis appears soundlessly in the doorway of Zayn’s 14th floor law office. 

“I need your advice,” he says quietly, stepping inside. 

“Okay,” Zayn responds, getting up to usher him in. He closes the door behind Louis, beckons him to the chair across from his desk. Louis sinks into it, knots his hands in his lap. He looks pale, drawn, like he hasn’t slept well in weeks, and Zayn guesses that’s probably not too far from the truth. 

“Louis,” he prompts gently. Louis takes a deep breath, looks up at him.

“I. I looked up the law,” he says, “For. For aiding and abetting suicide. It’s. It’s five years.”

Zayn’s blood runs cold. He looks instinctively at his office door to make sure it’s fully closed.

“Louis,” he says, voice low, “I can’t.”

“Please,” Louis says, a grace note of desperation in his voice, “If I. If I buy sleeping pills. Is it—does that count?”

Zayn closes his eyes, willing himself not to react.

“Louis. I can’t advise you on this. I can’t.”

“You’ve seen him,” Louis says, voice going thin, thready with emotion, “He’s not himself, he’s miserable. He can barely walk and he’ll never. He’ll never get better. Only worse. And he asked me, Zayn. He begged me. To. To.”

Zayn wants to put his fist through his desk, or the wall. 

“Louis, I can’t,” he whispers. It hurts to say it. 

Louis is silent for a beat.

“Fuck you,” he bites out, suddenly, sharply. There’s a rustle of fabric, footsteps, and the sound of the door opening. 

And he’s gone. 

-

“Did you talk to Zayn?”

“Yeah. Tried to, at least.”

“Tried?”

“He said he couldn’t. Couldn’t advise me.”

“Lou…”

“I guess. I guess that means he won’t be my first phone call. When I. After.”

“Louis. I’m. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“You don’t have to.”

“If this is what you want, then I’ll do it. For you, Haz.”

“…I wanted a lifetime with you Lou. Not. Not this.”

“I know. Me too, Haz.”

-

“Latham and Watkins law office, this is Zayn.”

“Zayn.”

The tone of Niall’s voice on the other end of the line tells Zayn everything he needs to know. 

“When?” he asks, closing his eyes against the stinging heat building up behind them.

“I don’t. I don’t know exactly. But. Louis called me from Metro about half an hour ago. I guess that’s where they’re holding him.”

“Have you talked to the DA yet?” Zayn asks, not really caring when his voice wavers, cracks.

“Yeah. Zayn, Louis says he came and talked to you. About. About Harry. About this.”

Zayn opens his eyes and stares almost unseeing down at his desk.

“Yeah,” he replies. 

Niall’s silence is terrible. 

-

Zayn’s been in courtrooms before, but never on this side. Never on the witness stand. 

“Mr….Malik? Am I saying that right?” The lawyer for the District Attorney’s office is young, good looking, and polite in that sharp-edged way that only trial lawyers can be. 

“Yes.”

“You say Mr. Tomlinson came to your office on…April 4th, correct?”

“Yes.” Zayn looks at Louis for a split second. Wants to throw up, because this can’t be happening.

“What did you know about Mr. Styles’ condition before April 4th?”

“I knew he was sick,” Zayn replies, “Terminally ill.”

“And did you know about Mr. Styles and Mr. Tomlinson’s relationship?”

“I did.”

Pause. 

“Why did Mr. Tomlinson come to your office on April 4th?” the prosecutor asks.

The silence in the court room thickens suddenly, almost perceptibly. Zayn swallows empty.

“He wanted advice,” he responds, his throat tight. 

“Advice about what?” the prosecutor presses, voice hardening, “What specifically did he ask you, Mr. Malik?”

Zayn finds Louis’ gaze, tries to hold it even as his vision starts to go blurry. He wishes there was some way—any way—for him to keep the words he’s about to say from leaving his mouth.

“He.” Zayn’s voice catches in his throat. “He asked me if. If buying sleeping pills would constitute aiding and abetting suicide.”

-

Zayn goes home that night after the trial. There’s a letter from the New York Bar Association waiting for him in his mailbox. 

_Mr. Malik,_

_This is a notification that the Bar Association has decided to institute disciplinary proceedings against you for engaging in the practice of law with the intent to aid, abet, or otherwise assist a third party in the commission of a crime. You are hereby informed that the Bar Association will recommend disbarment. You are further required to appear before the Association’s Ethics Panel on August 8th for a hearing._

-

“Has the jury reached a verdict?”

“We have, Your Honor.”

“Will the defendant please rise?”

Zayn watches from the back of the court room as Louis and his attorney, someone from Niall’s firm, get to their feet.

“On the charge of aiding and abetting suicide, how does the jury find?”

“On the charge of aiding and abetting suicide, we the jury find the defendant guilty.”

-

“Hello?”

“…I was just trying to do the right thing.”

Niall frowns, both at the background noise on the other end of the phone line and the slurred, wavering tone in Zayn’s voice.

“Zayn, where are you?”

“I’m. Nowhere. My best friend is dead, my other best friend is in jail for helping him die with dignity and I helped put him there, and now I’m going to get disbarred because I didn’t kick him out of my office when he asked for my help.”

“Zayn.” Niall feels helpless. “Where are you. I’ll come get you.”

“…New York City is beautiful at night. You know? Have you ever been out here at night?”

Niall’s stomach drops all the way to his feet. 

“Zayn, please just. Listen to me yeah?” he says, launching to his feet and scrabbling for his jacket, “I know. I know things are bad right now but you can’t quit on me, okay? Please just. Wait for me.”

-

Zayn tells himself he’ll wait for 15 minutes.

At 14 minutes and 30 seconds, the squeal of car brakes and a cacophony of irritated horns break through the dull hum of traffic on the bridge behind him. 

“What the fuck are you doing? Asshole!” someone yells.

“Fuck off!” Niall’s accent gets stronger when he’s angry or upset, and Zayn imagines vaguely that right about now, he’s both, and that’s why he can’t really understand the rest of the insults Niall is hurling. That, or maybe it’s the cocktail of alcohol and pills swimming through his system.

Warm arms wrap around his waist, a chest pressed firmly against his back. He sags. He can’t remember the last time anyone touched him, let alone this gently.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Niall says in his ear. 

Niall takes him back to his place, gets some syrup of ipecac in him, rubs his back and puts cold washcloths on the back of his neck while he vomits up all the poison he swallowed in a fit of despair. When he can’t throw up anymore, he pushes his back up against the bathroom wall, accepts the glass of water Niall hands over. Niall sits down on the floor next to him, still in his dress pants and shirt from work. 

“I was just trying to do the right thing,” Zayn says after draining the water. His whole body hurts. Self inflicted punishment for what he’s done. 

“I know,” Niall acknowledges quietly. 

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says, leaning his head back and looking up at the ceiling. 

“For what?”

“I don’t know. For everything.”

“Harry got sick. Louis loved him. They both made a choice. None of that was your fault.”

-

Later that night, Niall watches Zayn sleeping fitfully in his guest bedroom. Thinks about Harry, freed from the confines of a body that was slowly, painfully failing him. Thinks about Louis, serving his time, doing his penitence, accepting punishment with the knowledge that it has an endpoint and that Harry isn’t suffering anymore.

Thinks about Zayn, a lifetime ahead of him living with the knowledge that he couldn’t help Harry, or Louis, or even himself, in the end. 

Wonders who’s really saved who. And who’s really condemned who.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't ever actually plan to be a litigator, and I try desperately to avoid litigation or anything resembling it, so if there are any other law students out there reading this, please be nice about the creative liberties I took with crim pro, trial procedure, statutes, etc.


End file.
